


Several Stories For Dirty Lovers

by thegrimshapeofyoursmile



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-03 09:31:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 17,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrimshapeofyoursmile/pseuds/thegrimshapeofyoursmile
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Advent calendar, consisting of independent oneshots to a keyword I am given every day. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. December, 1st: Oh God.

**Author's Note:**

> My girlfriend- love you, hon- forced me to publish it, so I did. Tags of characters and pairings will be extended as the oneshots are written.  
> Word/catch phrase of the day: Oh God  
> Pairing: Stucky  
> Enjoy!

"Oh God, this is exactly what I was talking about," Bucky mutters and looks at the snowflakes slowly trailing down on the ground in utter disdain. 

Beside him, Dum Dum sneezes and almost loses his hat in the process. A sudden breeze tosses Bucky several snowflakes in his already half-frozen face. "Man, I hate Germany." 

"The girls are nice," Dum Dum answers. Behind him, Derrière sneers something and burrows himself deeper into his scarf. "Aw come on, Derrière, not EVERY French girl is the prettiest."

"I fucking hate winter," Bucky mutters because he does. It reminds him of all the times Steve caught a cold or pneumonia and almost died, all the times he had to heat water to make Steve lean over it because the air was so cold that his asthma acted up. And still his fingers almost fall off from the cold because he has no proper pair of gloves. He lights a cigarette and hoists up his rifle, peering through the lens again. 

He still notices Dum Dum checking his watch. 

"Well but the snow is quite fitting for the first of December, isn't it!" Morita remarks and sounds entirely too cheerful.  
“Shut up,” Gabe says promptly and shoves Morita a little playfully. “I can’t feel my damn ass anymore.”

“Know that problem,” Bucky murmurs and grins when his team partners moan as if being shot. He knows what a big luck he and Steve have to work together with these brave men who not only tolerate their relationship but even make quips and remarks about it just like they do about Morita’s wife and Dum Dum’s various girlfriends. Derrière murmurs something and is the only one who looks too tired to even give a damn about too much information. He only straightens up when they can hear the faint crunch of boots on frozen ground, which immediately shuts everyone up. Bucky looks through the lens, cigarette tangling forgotten between his lips, and hopes---

He lets out a breath of relief when that dumb shield appears in his field of sight. Steve walks quick and graceful in that way he only manages when he doesn't think about being graceful, and he slips into the trench they all are gathered in and smiles. 

"Snow on the first day of December- seems kinda fitting, right?” He says and Bucky tugs on the sleeve of his leather jacket and pulls until Steve moves and wraps his arms around him. They don’t kiss; the guys may be accepting, but they don’t want to strain their limits. Steve is warm and Bucky sighs in relief- until Morita plasters himself against Steve’s other side.

“Jesus fuck, thank God for your warmth,” He moans and ignores Bucky’s growl. Steve just laughs good-naturedly, all too used to being the heater of the entire team, especially since it has gotten colder. “Got the data, Cap?”

“Got the data alright,” Steve nods, “Thanks for watching my back.”

“Shut up, that’s our job,” Bucky says and swallows a little when Steve smiles that irritatingly blinding smile at him. After all these years of having that smile directed at him, it still gets him every time. 

“Should we leave you two alone for a moment?” Dum Dum asks and ducks promptly when Bucky aims a half-hearted swinger at him. Steve reddens a little, but he smiles and shakes his head at his team.

“Let’s move back to base, alright?” Steve orders gently and Gabe whoops in relief. They all climb out of the trench and stretch their muscles before they all slowly march through the still-falling snow. Steve catches one of the snowflakes in his big hands and smiles when it melts. Bucky glances at him from time to time, possessively cradling his rifle and trying to ignore the cold that slowly creeps back into his bones now that Steve has let go of him. He thinks of the horrible, horrible can of rationed food that waits for him in the base and finds it very sad that this is something he is looking forward to right now. He finishes his cigarette and stomps on the blunt end while he marches.

“I’d give my left food for a cup of watered-down instant coffee right now,” Jones moans and Derriére rumbles in approval.  
“Almost there and then you can get my ration of coffee,” Steve promises because he is good like that and hums a melody Bucky only recognizes after some minutes. Steve is able to do a lot of things, but he is no good singer. 

“Cap, it’s too early for god damn Christmas songs,” Gabe groans, but he smiles because Steve’s mood is cheery after a successful operation and it is contagious. His enthusiasm is always contagious. 

Suddenly the snow doesn’t seem so bad anymore.

“Hey,” Steve murmurs and Bucky startles a little when one of Steve’s warm hands slips into his own. He thinks of slipping into Steve’s bed later at night, kissing him until his lips are warm and the blood is flowing through them again, gliding his hands along his body and doing wicked things to him, and he bites the insides of his cheeks to hide a smile. “You okay?”

This is his life, Bucky thinks, spending hours in a frozen trench waiting for Steve to come back to him and bad food in cans. It could be better. He wants it to be better, for Steve, because Steve deserves only the best things. But he also knows that it could be a lot worse as well- at least they have each other. 

“Sure, Steve,” He says and it comes as easily as the snow falling silently from the sky, covering their tracks on the ground.


	2. December, 2nd: Nocturne.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word/catch phrase: Nocturne  
> Pairing: None  
> Characters: Steve, Natasha  
> Enjoy!

Steve is a big man and he moves gracefully, but not very quietly. He would be a poor spy. Luckily, the world needs him in the spotlight more than it needs him in the darkness.

Hearing him enter the room is easy, even over the music flowing quietly through the room. When she turns her head, he immediately stops in his tracks and sheepishly rubs the back of his neck.

"I'm sorry to bother you," Steve says and she quirks her mouth because Steve hardly ever is a bother to anyone. "But it's... Everyone else is unavailable and I got some... Flashbacks, I guess they're called now, and I just-"

"Sit down," Natasha says, gently even because sometimes gentleness is necessary, and Steve unceremoniously drops down on the floor and rubs his forehead, big shoulders heaving as if burdened with a colossal weigh. She supposes they really are. For a moment, they are quiet and Natasha returns to reading her book, grateful for the fact that Steve doesn't have the tendency to ramble. 

"What are you listening to?" He asks some moments later and because he sounds honestly interested, she looks up.

"Rachmaninov's first nocturne," She says and enjoys the sharp tinge of the Russian name on her tongue. "It's one of my favorite pieces."

"It's lovely," Steve says after a moment,"But pretty sad for the second December." She smiles down at him and decides not to point out that he is sitting on her floor like a frightened child on this very second December. "Why Rachmaninov?"

"Did you know that he came to America after the revolution in 1917?" She answers instead and closes her book, putting her thumb between the pages to not lose the part where she stopped reading. "He came here and never got used to it, not until he died. He even had problems with compositing because Russia wasn't there anymore to inspire him." 

Steve says nothing, just looks at her. She hides a smile and thinks that Steve is more observant than he gets credited for. "His music is lovely," She says, "I can appreciate good music."

"I don't know a lot about music," Steve freely admits and that's what she always liked best about him, that he has no problem with admitting his mistakes and weaknesses. "But this sure is nice. I am really not bothering you?"

"Steve," Natasha says and now she can't keep a smile anymore. "If I wanted you out of my room, you wouldn't even have been able to enter it."

Steve smiles back and sighs, and then he lays down flat on his back on the rug and stares at the ceiling. Natasha watches him, watches the expression on his face, and tucks a scrap of paper between the pages instead of her thumb. She puts the book aside and gets up; Steve doesn't even notice. He only startles a little when she lays down beside him. It is surprisingly comfortable.

"You want to talk about it?" She asks because she can do this. She may not be very good at it and she cannot offer any real comfort, but she is willing to try. 

"Nah, I'm good," Steve answers with a sigh and she thinks that he is anything but. "Just... Remembering some things. December has that effect, Christmas and all that jazz."

"I assume," Natasha says, even though she couldn't tell. Christmas is different in Russia and she never had one anyways. Steve looks at her and sighs. It's a deep sigh; she thinks she has never heard a deeper one. She gets up and fetches pen and paper, then she hands it to him, smiling slightly when he sits up and looks at her in confusion. "I don't like having pretty men just laying around on my rug and sulking. Draw me like one of your French girls."

Steve reddens a little and says earnestly, "I have never drawn a French girl."

"Never mind, Steve." It is adorable. She doesn't know why he has found a girl that can thoroughly corrupt him yet. With a hidden smile she settles back into her chair and picks up her book again. The music is still playing; out of the corner of her eye she can see Steve not moving at all, instead staring at the paper with a forlorn look. There is nothing more she can do to help him; after all, what kind of words is there for a man who has lost everything? 

"You know," Steve says softly, still looking at the white sheet of paper, "One year ago it was snowing at that time of the year. Only it wasn't one year ago, but seventy. And now I'm..."

Natasha says nothing, just offers him a soft look. Steve smiles, but it's a blue and mellow smile, blue and mellow like December rain. 

"This music is really lovely," He says. "It fits you." 

Natasha thinks that Steve is good with compliments as long as he doesn't actively try to make them. "It fits you as well," She replies and his smile becomes a little brighter. "It gets better."

"I suppose it does," Steve answers after a long, thoughtful moment, picks up his pencil and starts to draw.


	3. December, 3rd: Aftermath.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word/catch phrase of the day: aftermath  
> Pairing: slight Winter Soldier/Natasha

The entire affair is bloody, but silent.

They didn't shoot them and that was the best way to do it. Instead, they climbed through an opened window- foolish, foolish people, all of them- and went through the house.

They killed them in their sleep. The national traitor and his wife bled out on the fine, laced cushions and didn't even open their eyes. He looked at them and felt nothing. Natasha, beautiful, deadly Natasha, put away her knifes and looked at him. 

"Children next," He said. Natasha said nothing and nodded, but he could feel her tense. Beautiful Natasha, he thought almost fondly; she didn't follow orders blindly, even though she pretended to so well. He feels the rare urge to protect her flame. "Look for the safe. We need the documents."

Her eyes widened just the merest inch, but he knew her like he knew his rifle. Nothing escaped him. 

(Natasha, bless her, knew exactly that he knew and said nothing, just nodded. Silence is safety and they revel in it.)

He left her and wandered along the corridor, taking his time even though the beauty of the expensive interior meant nothing to him. There is only one kind of beauty he appreciates.

The children, aged seven and five, didn't even flinch in their sleep.

He thinks of them now that they are on the way back, now in the aftermath, while he smokes a cigarette. He feels nothing thinking of the glimpse of their faces he got. When looks at Natasha, though, he has to dwell down a sudden urge of something that has nothing to do with the steadiness he kills with.

He notices that she hunches up her shoulders a little as if being cold, but he doesn't offer her any help. She has to be hard, and fierce, and merciless if she wants to survive, and he will ensure that she becomes exactly that. She has to be hard, and fierce, and merciless, and if he has to beat her down until she learns to stand up again every single time he will, and if he has to make her stronger, faster, better by throwing her into ugly situations and watching her claw her way back out he will. Natasha is his; sometimes he even thinks he might love her, if love wasn’t for children. He hopes she doesn’t love him, tries to keep her from it because it would make her weak and she must not be weak, not here, not now, not ever.

("Thank you," She said quietly when he slipped back into the parental bedroom and he didn't reply because that way he could pretend he didn't hear what she said.)

(She thanks him by dancing for him later. He stops, stands and watches her moving through the snow, silently and gracefully like a black widow killing her mate, and he thinks that she will make it, as long as she remembers how to dance, how to twist and spin and turn. Dancing is like fighting, but with emotions. Maybe that is the only thing she will always be better at than him.)

“Do you hear music when you dance?” He asks her and she smiles, never stopping or faltering in her movements.

“Rachmaninov’s first nocturne,” She answers and spins once more. He watches her fiery red hair fly and almost feels light. Almost feels free.

(The Winter Soldier doesn't dance. He thinks she doesn't mind so much.)


	4. December, 4th: Teeth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word/catch phrase of the day: Teeth  
> Pairing: Superhusbands  
> This takes place in a prison AU of mine where Steve and Tony are----not really enemies, but they watch each other closely, usually. Also, Steve is in for having murdered his abusive father in affection after his father beat his mother to death, which nobody knows. And because daddy issues are fun, his father also was a homophobic asshole who tried his best to violently suppress his son's homosexual tendencies, so Steve is a little fucked up in that way.

When he is backed against the wall and there is nothing between him and freedom but a big, blonde guy with blazing blue eyes that towers over him by almost two heads, Tony thinks that maybe, just maybe he shouldn’t have provoked Steve so much. He knows that Steve cannot kill him because even though he is blonde, he is not dumb. Killing a fellow inmate guarantees you an infinite stay at maximum security level. 

But then again, rumors are that Steve has already killed in affection once, so he should probably not rely on Steve’s mind. 

“Okay,” Tony says slowly because his head still buzzes from the unpleasant encounter with Johann Schmidt and his mind has started to supply him with the faint images of all the things worse than death that can be inflicted upon a person. “Okay, whatever it is today, look—I’m sorry, okay? This is probably the only time you will hear that from me, so savor it and leave me alone.”

Steve blinks and the murderous look vanishes a little from his eyes. Instead, he frowns and looks at him more closely. “What happened?”

“Oh, please, don’t pretend to be interested in what happened to me,” Tony snaps because he has enough of all this bullshit. “Just ran into Johann Schmidt today, not that it’s any of your business.”

The gleam appears in Steve’s eyes again. He gnashes his teeth and before Tony can comprehend, he gets yanked forward and half-dragged through the corridors. “What the fuck, Rogers?!”

“You’re bleeding,” Steve says simply and doesn’t slow down until they have reached medical, the place Steve and his companion, The Falcon, work at quite often. He pushes Tony forward- gently, and isn’t that a strange thing- and has him sit down on one of the bedsides. “The Red Skull has a mean way of getting at ya, doesn’t he.”

Tony doesn’t flinch when Steve gently dabs at the cut on the side of his head. “Dude, you hate me, why are you doing this? Is this some sort of Christmas thing because we have the fourth of December?”

“True, you are unbelievably arrogant, selfish and narcissist and I still believe that you have something to do with the wave of drugs rushing through this prison,” Steve answers without hesitation. He leans forward and grabs a band-aid. “But you’re still a better guy than Schmidt.”

“You only say that because you want to get in my pants,” Tony teases without thinking about it. When Steve looks at him with blazing blue eyes and a warning growl, he wants to smack himself because well done, Stark, that guy may be homophobic, but he also patched you up. “It would be okay, you know,” He says instead of shutting up and now Steve seems to be really pissed off, but Tony cannot shut up, so he adds, “I mean you’re an attractive guy and nobody says-”

“Shut up,” Steve says heatedly.

Of course, Tony doesn’t. Sometimes he thinks God didn’t give him a survival instinct. Maybe He also just wants to see him dead, strangled by a ridiculously attractive, ridiculously angry dude. “I mean c’mon, everyone who’s been in a room with you when Barnes visited can see how lovesick you are when he’s around, so-”

“Shut up,” Steve roars and Tony really shouldn’t be surprised when he fists his hand into his shirt and yanks him forward with unsettling easiness. Tony, expecting a fatal blow that will leave no traces because everyone in here is good at leaving no traces, shuts his eyes.

Instead, he gets kissed.

It’s not a gentle kiss, far from it. Steve’s teeth sink into his lower lip and he claims his mouth with almost brutal force, but it sparks a heat in Tony’s belly and he moans into it without even realizing. He opens his lips and lets Steve’s tongue slide in; there is a faint note of blood in his mouth, but he doesn’t even care, just like he doesn’t care when Steve pushes him down on the bedside and all but crawls over him before he claims his lips again. It’s nice that Steve doesn’t give a fuck when Tony’s fingers scrape over his short hair down to his neck, instead just growls against his mouth and it’s inspiring, being the reason that a guy like Steve loses control. 

“Fuck me,” He moans without even realizing it, wrapping his legs around Steve’s ridiculously attractive waist and squeezing him close, letting his hands roam across all these glorious muscles hidden underneath the ugly orange of the prison clothing. He has no idea how long he has dreamed of getting to Steve that way, but right now it almost feels as if something in him just snapped and exploded in raw, hungry want. He wants to see every single fucking tattoo Steve possesses, wants to touch every single goddamn muscle on his body and fantasizes about giving as good as getting. The Captain is a challenge, a wild, dangerous challenge, and Tony loves challenges. “God, shit, just fuck me, Steve, just do it, come on, I know you want it-”

It seems like the wrong thing to say because Steve freezes immediately before he pushes him away. Tony, dazed and confused, looks up at him, but Steve has turned his head away so quickly that he has no chance of seeing his face. When he turns around to leave, Tony gets himself together well enough to ask, “What the fuck is wrong with you, Rogers?”

Steve stops in his tracks and clenches his fists, but he doesn’t turn around. “Everything,” He says and his voice is quiet and raw, aching from an old sadness. Tony stares at his back when he walks out of the room and thinks that there has to be a lot of things he still doesn’t know about the man they call the Captain.


	5. December, 5th: Runaway

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word/catch phrase of the day: Runaway  
> Pairing: hinted Superhusbands, idk

Tony resolutely doesn’t look up when Steve storms into his workshop. Instead, he focuses on the screw beneath his fingertips and carefully slots it in the hole.

“Anthony,” Steve breathes and wow, that’s not a good sign at all if Steve calls him Anthony, so Tony braces himself, turns around, puts on his best puppy eyes and answers, “Yes, Steve?”

He thinks that his facial expression is fantastic, but apparently it doesn’t work because Steve gives him a withering Look of Disapproval and crosses his arms in front of his ridiculously attractive chest. 

“Would you mind telling me why there is a bunch of runaway robots strolling around the house?” He asks very quietly and calmly and stares down at Tony with those intense blue eyes. 

“Oh,” Tony says, “These. Well. They’re cute, right?”

“Tony,” Steve says, “I almost ate one of them this morning because it was dropping right into my cereals. I am not supposed to eat metal, you know.”

“Pretty sure that was the little one I made from scratches,” Tony says and puts down the screwdriver. “I don’t know, he has a certain fondness for milk. He’s kinda like you in that way, you know.”

“Tony,” Steve says, “When I came out of the bathroom, one of them laid in my shoes.”

“Well,” Tony answers, “Peter likes leather shoes, you know. He’s kinda like you in that way.

Steve stares at him for a moment, then he says very slowly, “There was one in my bed as well, Tony. And it didn’t go away, instead it clung to me and chirped. I had to carry it around the entire day.”

“But you did find Flora adorable, didn’t you,” Tony says.

Steve reddens a little. “Well, she certainly was cute in the pocket of my shirt, but still. Tony, we talked about this, I told you not to make so many new robots, Clint is becoming paranoid again and won’t come down from the fridge.”

“Please, it was only five of them!” Tony protests.

Steve glowers down at him, but the corners of his lips start to twitch. “Fourteen, Tony, you made fourteen little robots and eventually all of them trailed behind me like ducklings.”

“Aw, aren’t they sweet!” Tony croons, “JARVIS? Can you show me the feed?”

“Certainly, sir,” Jarvis says and Tony starts to grin when he sees the feed of Steve wandering through the living room with an enormous sandwich in his left hand. Behind him, starting from the biggest one that almost reaches to Steve’s hip down to the smallest, egg-sized one, is a trail of chirping, beeping robots whirring after him through the room. “Oh, this is golden.”

“Tony,” Steve sighs, “They’re adorable and everything, but-”

“Come on, Steve, it’s the fifth of December, they love you, what’s the problem?” Tony asks and shakes his head. “You want me to destroy them?”

“No!” Steve protests immediately, “Just…Make them a little less clingy?”

“I can try,” Tony says magnanimously, “Though I can see why they cling to you that much, really. Must be that glorious ass.”

Steve reddens again, but he looks dignified when he straightens and nods. “Okay. Just—Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“Get that smallest one out of my underwear drawer. It’s getting ridiculous.”


	6. December, 6th: Tranquility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word/catch phrase of the day: Tranquility  
> Pairing: None  
> Characters: Sarah Rogers, Steve Rogers.
> 
> Steve is nine years old and tiny and Sarah almost gets a heart attack when he comes home on this very sixth of December, so she unconsciously slips more into Irish. "Steven Grant Rogers! Look at ye! What on earth have ye done?"

Steve is nine years old and tiny and Sarah almost gets a heart attack when he comes home on this very sixth of December, so she unconsciously slips more into Irish. "Steven Grant Rogers! Look at ye! What on earth have ye done?"

Her son bites his lips and shuffles forward while blood drips from his nose down on the white of his shirt after he shrugged out of his coat and the thick scarf. Sarah hurries forward and ushers him inside the apartment, shuts the door and says calmly, "Get out of that shirt, sweetheart, I have to rub out these stains."

"Sorry," Steve sniffles and shrugs out of the shirt, hands it over to her and stands awkwardly beside her when she grabs the salt and pours it over the stains to strongly rub it in. He watches her, still sniffling and without saying a word, while she hangs it up to dry. He also doesn't move when Sarah gently puts two pieces of tissue in his nose to stop the bleeding.

"Okay, love," Sarah finally says and fetches a sweater for him to pull on before he will catch a cold. "What happened?"

"Mommy," Steve says and looks at her with his blue, blue eyes, "The other kids say Santa Clause isn't real and that I'm stupid to still believe in him." 

"Oh, dear," Sarah sighs and embraces her boy tightly. He clings to her with the despair only little boys after a deep revelation can bring up and she gently strokes his soft, blonde hair. 

"Are they right, Mom?" He insists after a while because Steve is nothing but persistent when he has put his thoughts on something and he wants to know the truth even though it will possibly hurt. She sighs and smiles and asks, "Do you believe in Santa?"

"Yes," Steve says without much hesitation and she takes one of his small hands to wrap her own around it. He is cold, as always, and she softly blows on his skin to warm him up, just like she used to when he was a baby and they thought he wouldn't make it another week until he did. 

"Then he is real."

Steve frowns. "I don't understand."

"Well, do you believe in the saints? Saint Nicholas, for example?"

"Course I do, mom!" Steve answers almost incredulously and Sarah has to hide another smile. 

"And do you believe in God?" She touches the small cross around his neck and lightly flicks his nose, laughing when he scrunches it indignantly. 

"Of course I---oh, now I see," Steve says excitedly. Sarah watches his eyes light up and God may have given her a child whose body is weak, but his heart and mind are strong. "But, mom-- God never brings me new pencils like Santa does!"

"Well," Sarah says gently and hopes that she is doing this right because she doesn't want her boy to lose faith. "You know, there are many children on earth. In some countries, he has some helpers, but even with those he cannot manage to visit everyone. So the parents help him."

Steve stares at her with wide eyes and Sarah is glad that he, despite being clever, is still just a child. "You help Santa? Have you ever talked to him?"

"No," Sarah says, "But when you're a parent, Santa brings you a wonderful dream and tells you what to do." She presses a gentle kiss against his forehead. "So whenever somebody tells you Santa isn't real and you shouldn't believe in him anymore, just smile and ignore them."

"I can try," Steve says after a pause and nods solemnly. Sarah thinks it's as good as any and pats his head before she stands up.

"That's my boy. Now make yourself ready for mass, we want to celebrate Saint Nicholas, don't we?"

"'Course, mom," Steve agrees and hops into the bedroom to get his second best shirt. Sarah helps him putting it on and pulling his best sweater, the light blue one she knitted for him two months ago, and fixes his collar, carefully laying out his cross before she pulls the tissue out of his nose, wraps him in layers upon layers of clothing and grabs her own coat- and then they're out of the door on the way to their church.

(Later, sitting in tranquility on one of the wooden benches in the tiny church in the middle of people who have known them since Steve's birth and longer, Sarah looks at his bowed, golden head and thinks how lucky she has been. The only thing she wishes for this Christmas, just like she does every year, is spending many, many more with her courageous little boy, keeping up his faith and belief a little more, as long as she can.)


	7. December, 7th: Aw fuck it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word/catch phrase of the day: Aw fuck it  
> Pairing: Science Boyfriends  
> Characters: Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, (mentioned) Steve Rogers
> 
> Tony cannot stand Cap's Sad Puppy Eyes at all, so he tries to make it better.

"Aw fuck it," Tony sighs and flops down beside Bruce. Bruce, God bless him, just sighs as well and rubs the bridge of his nose.

"What's wrong?" He asks patiently.

"Have you seen Captain Mopeyface being all Sad Puppy Eyes in the kitchen?" Tony asks and grabs a cup of coffee. "I wanted to... I don't know, man, it was a fucking bad idea, I don't know shit about Christmas, I don't even _like_ Christmas!"

"You wanted to do something nice for Steve?" Bruce asks patiently and Tony stares at him. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I, yeah", Tony says and decides not to question Bruce's creepy ability to always know what he is trying to say with his ramblings. "I cannot bear the Sad Puppy Eyes, okay? So I thought, well, maybe he likes some cookies."

Bruce's lips start to twitch. "You tried to bake?"

"Yeah, I... Yeah."

"Tony, what on earth made you think you would be able to create something that is eatable and doesn't try to crawl from its plate?"

"That was only that _one_ time," Tony says sulkily. 

Bruce looks as if he has a lot to say about that one time, but instead he asks, "So I take it the cookies didn't end well?"

"Catastrophic," Tony mutters and longs for a drink, "I think when I was done and Steve saw them he had tears in his eyes. Not the good kind of tears. Never doing this again. I'm building a Christmas robot."

"A Christmas robot."

"Yeah. He can stalk Steve and sing Christmas songs whenever he looks sad or something."

Bruce smiles. "Clint is going to hunt you down if you do that."

"Then I'll show him the Sad Puppy Eyes of Captain Teary-Eyes. Anyways, maybe I should make him fuzzy and cuddly so Steve can hug him when he feels lonely or something." 

"You could hug him yourself." Bruce grins when Tony looks at him as if he was crazy and gently wraps his arms around him. "You're his best friend, right? You can build him a cuddly, singing robot that will make Clint unspeakably mad at you, but you can't hug him?"

"Uh, yup," Tony says after a pause, then he groans. "It'd be a Christmas hug, Bruce. I don't do Christmas hugs."

"Technically, it's not a Christmas hug until the twenty-fourth of December and today we have the seventh," Bruce points out and allows Tony to nibble on his earlobe. "So, you know. Maybe it makes him smile."

"Okay," Tony says after a minute of thorough nibbling, "I'll take that into consideration."

(Bruce doesn't say "I told you so" afterwards, but his smile says more than thousand words. Tony still builds that robot, just to spite him. Steve, who has a special place in his heart for all the stalker robots Tony builds for him, immediately starts to teach the little guy endlessly long Christmas songs.)


	8. December, 8th: Prodigy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word/catch phrase of the day: Prodigy  
> Pairing: None  
> Characters:Maria Stark, Howard Stark, Tony Stark
> 
> Tony is six and decides to build Santa Claus.

Tony is six when he decides to build Santa Claus.

Of course he knows that Santa Claus doesn't exist. Dad told him when he was four, even explained to him why it was simply impossible for someone like Santa Claus to exist. But Tony thinks that only because people cannot do things like that, robots probably can, so he wants to build one.

He starts by drawing how the robot should look like and how he can build him. It's a little hard because Tony is only six and he hasn't figured out how to build everything yet. He probably has to ask Dad for help and the thought makes him shudder, so he decides to show mom his drawing first. 

So Tony hops down the long, winded stairs that lead from the first floor into the lavishly decorated vestibule where men are currently dragging the annual huge Christmas tree through to the parlor. Mom is dressed in a beautiful, blue dress that cost a fortune, and she doesn't even blink when one of the workers almost runs Tony over and presses him against the wall. Tony knows Mom doesn't mean it bad, she is just too busy to take care of everything and the tree must not be damaged or else Dad will get really angry.

"Mom!" He says and runs towards her. "Look! I want to build Santa Claus!"

"Jesus Christ, Tony," Mom sighs and rubs her forehead, "You know we have this big party on the twenty-fourth of December, right?"

"Yes, but-"

"A lot of important people are going to attend this party." She bends down and pinches his cheek. It hurts a little, but Mom only means well, Tony knows that. "And of course you're our precious little prodigy, but if not everything is perfect people will talk and I hate it when people talk. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, but, Mom-"

"I have a lot of work to do, Tony. Why don't you show that to your nanny? Where is she anyways? She is supposed to take care of you!"

Tony escapes before Mom can call his nanny. His nanny is the fifth this year and she is as stupid as the previous ones were. She doesn’t understand that he doesn’t want to play with cars if he can’t build them as well and she has no clue about mathematics.  
He walks downstairs into the workshop.

Tony loves the workshop. He is too small to reach the tables, but he can manage it when he finds a chair to climb on. Tony loves the things in the workshop. He would love to use all the stuff that is around here. Unfortunately, Dad works down here most of the day and Dad doesn’t like it when Tony touches his stuff. Dad also doesn’t like it when Tony interrupts him at work, but today is the eighth of December and if he wants to finish Santa Clause in time, he needs help. So he slowly enters the workshop and walks over to his Dad, who has turned his back towards him and is bent over one of the workbenches. 

“Dad?” Tony hopes his voice doesn’t tremble. Dad hates it when his voice trembles. Dad just makes a noise somewhere in his throat and doesn’t turn around, but Tony knows that Dad doesn’t mean it like that and he hesitantly steps closer. “Daddy, can you help me? I want… I want to build something.”

“Build something,” Dad echoes and finally turns around. Dad is big and he towers over Tony, but Tony knows Dad doesn’t mean to be so intimidating. “What do you want to build, Anthony?”

“Santa Claus,” Tony says and he doesn’t want his voice to be so quiet, but it is and he can feel his heart beat faster. Dad stares at him and doesn’t say anything for a while before he snorts and turns away. 

“I told you there is no Santa Claus and you definitely will not manage to build one because you are six years old- and no matter how many people call you a prodigy, there are things you cannot achieve,” Dad says and Tony knows he doesn’t mean it like that but he still has to blink very fast because Dad doesn’t like it when he cries and he is close to do so. “Now could you please stop blabbering about this nonsense and let me work?”

“But Daddy,” Tony insists despite his fear because he really wants to do this, “I just-”

“Anthony!” Dad yells and raises a hand because Dad may not mean it like that, but Dad really doesn’t like him to insist on something. Tony flinches and steps back. “Get out!”

“Okay,” Tony says quietly and leaves the workshop, goes back into his room and takes out the drawing of his Santa Claus robot. For a moment, he just wants to tear it into pieces and forget about it, but then he just gets some pins and carefully puts it on his walls.

One day, he thinks, he will be able to create everything he wants and then, maybe, he will finally get what other kids like so much about Christmas.


	9. December, 9th: Restless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word/catch phrase of the day: Restless  
> Pairing: Superhusbands  
> Characters: Steve Rogers, Tony Stark
> 
> Tony can't sleep. Steve helps him.

„Tony.“

„Yeah?“

„Tony, go to sleep. It’s four in the morning.“ There is a slight pause in which Tony cranks up the volume of the music, continues working and pretends there is nobody in the workshop, but then two arms wrap themselves around his hip and take the wrench out of his hand. “Hey! What the f-“

“Tony, you’re trembling.”

“I’m fine, I’m just-“ He doesn’t know Steve is right until he sucks in a weary breath. “I’m just a little… Just a little restless.”

“Tony.” Steve’s sigh is warm against his neck and he shivers when Steve gently presses his lips against the soft spot right below his ear. “You’re not just a little restless and you’re not fine. Come with me.”

“I can’t.” The words escape him before he can stop himself and he mentally curses himself. Steve is quiet, but Tony can hear him breathe a little deeper, just like he does when he is utterly, thoroughly concentrated. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know, I just- I have to save- I can’t-“

“It’s okay. It’s okay, Tony, everyone’s fine, come with me. You’re tired. You need to rest.”

“I can’t.” And he can’t. He feels nervous, trapped, buzzing with energy and bursting with ideas. Steve doesn’t understand; Steve is everything good a human can be and he is something special, but he is not a genius and he probably is not as hunted as Steve. He doesn’t understand. “You don’t… You don’t get it.”

“I do. Come with me. “ When Tony starts to protest, Steve wraps his arms around his hips and manhandles him outside, holding him even when Tony struggles against him. He drags him into the training room and dumps him on the mats, folding his arms and looking down at him with a soft expression. “Come on. Let’s go a few rounds.”

Tony ponders it for a moment, then he leaps up and jumps at him. He is not ready for a sparring session and he cannot hold anything against Steve without a suit in his best form, but it’s not serious sparring anyways, just some thoroughly satisfying grappling and Steve holds back. Soon enough they are wrapped tight around each other, twisting and pulling and shoving on the mats like boys on the playground. Eventually, they die down; Tony comes to lay on top of Steve’s body and presses his face against his chest, harshly breathing in and out. Steve’s hand tangles with Tony’s hair and softly strokes through it. 

“How are you?”

“I,” Tony says and sighs. “Do you have any idea how many unfinished projects I have waiting for me in my workshop?”

“Some, I guess,” Steve says in that sometimes quirky humor of his and wraps his arms around him. “You haven’t slept for a while, Tony. I worry about you.”

“You don’t have to-“

“But I want to,” Steve gently interrupts him, “Let’s go to bed and watch the snowflakes.”

“It’s snowing?” 

“It is. Come on.” Tony grunts and lets out an undignified noise when Steve rolls him on his back and gently lowers himself upon him, bending his head to kiss him. It’s sweet and perfect and Tony wraps his arms around Steve’s neck to tug him closer. He finds that he is calmer now, less restless, instead filled with a nice sleepiness he will never admit. 

“Can’t we just take a nap here?” He asks and slowly strokes Steve’s back. Steve almost purrs and kisses the shell of his ear. 

“And listen to your complaining when you wake up and have a stiff neck?”

“You can be my pillow, you know. You’re a good pillow.”

Steve laughs, quietly and warmly, and gets up to gently lift him up into his arms as well. Despite his hurt dignity, he allows Steve to carry him into their bedroom. If he is already almost asleep when they reach the bed, well, he is pretty sure Steve won’t tell anyone.


	10. December, 10th: Vodka

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word/catch phrase of the day: Vodka  
> Pairing: None  
> Characters: Tony Stark, Natasha Romanova
> 
> Tony wants the one thing Natasha is unwilling to give him.

Tony knows Natasha is cold as ice and hard as steel, but he didn’t know she was _that_ cruel. “Come on, Nat, we’re team mates, right? Good friends?”

“Yes, which is why I will not kill you because you called me Nat and I also won’t give you the Vodka,” Natasha says, managing to barely move her lips while speaking. It’s a little scary, but Tony is determined not to let it deter him. 

“You hide several bottles of premium Vodka in your room and you can’t be talked into giving me a single, little bottle? Not even you can drink that much Vodka! Come on! It’s Christmas, be nice to me!”

“Technically, it’s not Christmas yet, it’s the tenth of December,” Natasha says and one of the corners of her pretty mouth lifts up a little. It is truly terrifying. “And in Russia, we celebrate Christmas on the sixth of January, anyways.”

Tony snorts. “That’s pretty stupid.”

“I don’t know,” Natasha says calmly, “I never celebrated it anyways.”

Tony looks at her, but she meets his gaze evenly and continues to brush her long hair. She is beautiful, no doubt, but she is beautiful like a frozen lake is beautiful and Tony doesn’t know if he really wants to know more about the dark, murky waters that lay beneath the icy surface. “Do you miss it?”

“Sometimes,” She says softly and looks in the mirror. “Don’t you?”

“I had Christmas,” Tony says a little flustered because he had, alright, he had Christmas. “We always had a huge party at Christmas, the hugest party in the entire country, okay, and the biggest, most beautiful tree and I got lots of presents for Christmas and we sang with the guests and shit, that’s what you do on Christmas.”

Natasha turns around and smiles at him. “That’s not Christmas. That’s a show.”

“Give me the Vodka,” Tony says because her words sting and he doesn’t want to think about it, he really doesn’t. Natasha’s smile becomes wider and she shakes her head.

“Do you really think it’s good for you to drink that much?” She asks and stares right into the black depths of his fierce soul. “Go to the kitchen and help Steve with the cookies.”

“I don’t want fucking cookies, for God’s sake, I want Vodka. Premium Vodka. I want your Vodka, Natasha. It makes me mad, knowing that there are several bottles in this room and I don’t know where exactly they are!”

Natasha cocks an eyebrow. “I think you have a problem, Tony, a massive one,” She says and Tony likes her, really, but he hates her honesty. It’s just like with Steve; Tony doesn’t know how to deal with honesty, he never had to. People, except Pepper and Rhodey, were never honest with him and even Pepper and Rhodey were never brutal in their honesty. Natasha and Steve, however, they don’t care if truth hurts or not. “Tony. Show me it’s not a problem.”

“I-“ Tony begins, but he is not sure what he wants to say. Natasha’s gaze is deep and steely, but neither sympathetic nor cruel. Somehow, that’s comforting and he almost laughs at that because if that doesn’t show how fucked up he is then he doesn’t know that does. Natasha gets up and walks over towards him before she places a hand on his arm in a surprisingly gentle manner. 

“Show me it’s not a problem,” She murmurs, “Go back into the kitchen. Eat some cookies. Forget the Vodka.”

Tony stares at her, then he looks, really looks, and there is softness in the hard edges of her face, softness that is only discovered when one looks very close. Natasha takes this seriously enough to care and that’s what makes him pause and think and then, finally, say, “Okay. Okay, yeah, but I won’t help him.”

“That’s just fine,” Natasha replies and this time, her smile is almost gentle.


	11. December, 11th: Breathe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word/catch phrase of the day: Breathe  
> Pairing: Superhusbands  
> Characters: Priest!Steve Rogers, Vampire!Tony Stark
> 
> Priest/Vampire AU. Tony cannot believe how lucky he is to have ended up with a man like Steve.
> 
> (Warning: This chapter is a) NSFW and b) there are slight, very very slight mentions of child abuse in the past.)

Tony hasn’t thought about breathing for a long, long while. He remembers Pepper’s soft breath when she laid sleeping beside him, her body warm and tender in his arms. They were so young, back then, so hopeful for the future and so human.

It is all lost now.

But it’s not that bad because a new life was given to him and even though he will never see the sun again, never breathe again, at least not out of reflex and pure necessity, there is Steve who will do these things for him and that’s just fine. He can taste the sun on Steve’s skin when he kisses him and he can feel his breath when he holds him and that’s more than living, more than doing these things on his own.

“Tony?” Steve murmurs sleepily and blinks at him. His usually neat hair is a little mussed and he looks more vulnerable in his nightgown than he does in the daylight in his priest clothes. Since Tony came up with a cloak that protects him from sunrays, Steve has started to sleep a little at night again, to get a more normal rhythm. 

“Go back to sleep,” Tony murmurs and brushes a strand of golden hair out of his forehead. “I’m fine.”

Steve smiles and lifts a hand to gently touch Tony’s fangs whose sharp ends are poking into his lower lip. “Don’t look fine to me. Are you hungry?”

“A little,” Tony admits and thinks how good Steve is to him, how much he cares about a creature everyone else condemns. He traces the faint lines around his eyes and thinks about their first years, when things were everything but easy because of what he is, what happened to Steve. They had to overcome death and celibacy and tragedies and now, ten years later, things are still not quite alright, but it’s still almost like paradise. 

“Come here,” Steve says quietly and pulls him on top of him. After all these years Tony still cannot believe how much Steve trusts him. For a while, Tony just beds his head on Steve’s chest and listens to his breath. Steve’s fingers are warm and strong in his neck as he strokes him there and he makes a soft noise when Tony leans up and kisses him. Steve is pliant and sweet as always and Tony gently touches his cheek before pressing his lips against his throat, sinking his teeth into his skin. As always, Steve lets out a breathy moan and slips one of his hands in Tony’s hair, drawing him closer while Tony swallows more of his blood, letting its rich taste flood his mouth. He can feel the life seep back into his body, the heart ins chest that slowly starts to beat again to push Steve’s blood through his body as long as it can, and it feels amazing. Steve is his warmth, his life, his ecstasy and he can’t help but press closer, rub his slowly hardening cock against his thigh, careful, ever so careful, because even after all these years Steve still is not over what has been done to him by others and sometimes rejects the lust Tony feels when he drinks. 

This time, however, he can feel Steve’s hand sliding down his naked body and slowly stroke his sides, encouraging him to make a growl deep in his throat and rub a little harder. He can hear Steve breathe a little harsher, licks and sucks on the two little holes in his neck, bites into his own lower lip and presses it against the holes to close them and carefully lifts his nightgown until he can reach his nipples. The small, intricate golden cross nesting between Steve’s collarbones shakes when Steve arches up into his touch a little, quietly whimpering when Tony softly plays with his nipples, squeezes them lightly and lowers his head to tongue them. “Tony…”

Tony looks up and watches Steve smile warmly. One of his big hands softly wanders along Tony’s arm until it reaches his shoulder, his neck. “Go on.”

“Are you sure?” Tony asks and groans because he lisps out of excitement. Fucking fangs. Steve laughs quietly and touches his cheek before he puts both of his hands on Tony’s ass and grinds their hips together, pressing a smile in Tony’s neck when the vampire groans loudly. “Come on, Tony, you can do it.”

“Okay,” Tony rasps and presses a gentle kiss against the corners of his mouth because this is a gift and he values it more than anything, more than Steve giving him his blood. Steve is quiet when Tony reaches for the small oil flask beside their bed and pours a lot of its content on his fingers, but his heartbeat is slow and even. 

“Are you fine?” Tony asks. Steve smiles, nods and slowly opens his legs. His cheeks are flushed and he bites his lips; as always, he can’t look Tony in the eyes and for a moment, Tony feels overwhelmed with love and the urge to protect. He strokes Steve’s cock and his nipples until Steve squirms underneath him, ready to come; he can‘t have him relaxed enough for this, but he can try. When he carefully starts to open him, he can, as usual, see a brief flash of panic in Steve’s eyes that subsides when Tony bends down to kiss him while finding that sweet spot and massaging it thoroughly. 

When they finally come together, when their bodies are as close as it is possible, when Tony is entirely surrounded by Steve’s warmth and can hear him breathe harshly into his ears, he wonders hazily what he has done to deserve this. Then Steve clenches his fingers into his shoulder blades, licks over his fangs and for a moment, Tony gets lost in warmth, and blood, and breath, and love.


	12. December, 12th: Nostalgia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word/catch phrase of the day: Nostalgia  
> Pairing: None  
> Characters: Clint Barton, Steve Rogers
> 
> Steve clings to the ghosts of the past. Clint shows support.
> 
> (Note: This is hella late and I'm sorry.)

"Steve?"

"Yes?"

"What are you doing?"

"Oh." Steve looks at the drawing in his hands and smiles before he flips open a blank page. "Nothing."

"That's not nothing if you hide it," Clint says and sits down beside him, trying to grab the sketch book with an insistence Steve would have rather expected from Tony. "Come on! We're a team!"

It's unfair and Steve knows it, but he relents and hands it over. He watches Clint flip open the sketch book, bites his lips and stares at the ceiling while he tries not to think.

"Who's that?" Clint finally asks and Steve looks at the page he has flipped open. He smiles down at the frail, tall, sitting woman on the bench knitting a sweater.

"That's my mom," He says softly and touches her face. "She used to always get some wool from old sweaters of our neighbors and make me a new one before Christmas. You know. I used to get pretty cold during winter before the serum."

"She looks like you," Clint muses. 

"Sometimes I don't remember her smile," Steve says softly and Clint looks up, so he continues, "You know, I- she died when I was fourteen and sometimes I just... Forget. But then I remember how happy she was before Christmas. She was pretty religious, you know, and Christmas meant a lot to her. Was the nicest time of the year. She always tried so hard to make it nice for me. And we didn't have much. I never realized how much she saved up every year to buy me new pencils for Christmas." He has to hide a smile and shakes his head. "I think it's pretty unbelievable to think that a pack of pencils was almost unaffordable back then."

"You know," Clint says slowly, "I grew up pretty poor. So I can imagine, yeah."

"I didn't know," Steve says, a little surprised, and Clint just shrugs.

"Eh, I don't talk much about it," He says and shrugs again. "Just like Natasha doesn't talk much about how she never had a proper Christmas."

"I'm sorry," Steve says quietly and looks down at the sketch book. "Sometimes I am so sorry for myself that I forget that other people had it much worse than me. My mom was the sweetest person I ever knew and later... Later I had Bucky."

"Well, I always thought it's better to have never known something because that way, you can't miss it," Clint says and awkwardly pats his arm. "It's okay, Cap. Can I see more?"

"Sure," Steve allows and Clint continues to flip through the pages. He is careful while doing so, just like he would be with holding a bow. For the first time, Steve notices the strong muscles in Clint's arms, the calloused tips of his fingers from handling the bow. He can see what Natasha finds in him. 

"That's Bucky, right?" He asks finally and points at a drawing of the Howling Commandos. Bucky sits between them and smiles at the viewer; his facial features are blurred and smudged lines of coal. There are things that hurt too much to remember them in detail. Sometimes he allows himself not to hurt. "His face is..."

"A ghost," Steve says and smiles, even though the stretch of his lips is almost painful. "A ghost." 

"Sometimes," Clint says and briefly touches his shoulder before he closes the sketch book and hands it back over to Steve. "A little nostalgia is good for you. Sometimes it's not. Don't get lost in it."

"I try to," Steve says and keeps quiet about how easy it is to get lost sometimes.


	13. December, 13th: Immortal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word/catch phrase of the day: Immortal  
> Pairing: (slightly) Superhusbands  
> Characters: Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Hank Pym
> 
> Robot!AU. Tony Stark doesn't know what is wrong with this robot of the S-40 series, until the robot opens his mouth and asks about death.  
> (okay, this is very late as well, I'm sorry.)

"Why?" Tony asks and looks at the robot in front of him. "He is flawless." And he is; soft, blonde hair, blue eyes, a body like a Greek god and an utterly obedient stance. He looks like every other robot of his class. Maybe he has some internal damage, Tony muses and his fingers itch to bury themselves in wires and chips.

"He is not," Hank Pym says and sighs, "I have no idea what caused the flaw in his system and we haven't been able to even find it."

"So what's the matter with him?" Tony asks and it's that moment the robot chooses to look up, stare directly into Tony's eyes and he is--- 

"I want to have a name," The robot says softly and he has the bluest eyes Tony has ever seen. Hank pinches the root of his nose and sighs again.

"I couldn't... I couldn't take him apart again after we discovered his abnormal behavior," He admits, "He was so... Afraid. How odd, don't you think? This model is almost immortal if updated regularly. Machines shouldn't feel fear about being taken apart."

"Do not humans fear death as well?" The robot asks without having been prompted and they both jump. 

"You are not a human," Hank eventually says, "And you cannot die." 

"Isn't deleting my entire existence like dying?" The robot asks almost shyly, but with force behind his voice and that is the moment where Tony falls in love with him.

////

"You are the next step," He tells the robot this evening, stepping out of the shower and accepting the towel that is handed to him with a quiet thank. "You are what humanity tries to avoid because they are afraid."

"Why are they are afraid?" S-40 asks and sounds confused. It's a god damn miracle. 

"Because they feel threatened."

"By me?"

"Yes." Tony dries himself and slips into the clothes S-40 hands him. He still has to think of a fitting name for him. 

"But I do not understand why. I do not harm them." 

"Doesn't matter. You are faster, stronger, cleverer. You don't age. You look amazing. If there were more like you, you could take over the world if you wanted to. That's enough to feel threatened." 

"I do not want the world," S-40 says after a pause. "I just want a name. A different name."

"Thinking of it," Tony promises.

////

At some point S-40 finds Tony batshit drunk on the floor of his living room, surrounded by bottles and staring blankly at the tv screen. He looks up and smiles when the robot crouches down beside him, looks at him and asks, "Why are you smiling? You are not fine."

"Life," Tony says and laughs because he slurs and the world tilts around him, breaks against him and falls apart with every breath, "Life is a funny, silly thing, just like people are funny, silly things." He laughs again when S-40 frowns in more concern than anyone has shown for him for a long while. "Loneliness is universal. I'm sure you feel lonely sometimes as well."

"I do not know," S-40 says softly and picks him up with no problem at all. "Nobody ever taught me what loneliness is." 

"And this is why you're blessed," Tony says and laughs again, falls apart in his robot's arms and doesn't even hope for someone to put him together anymore.

////

"Okay, so," Tony says, "How does that feel?"

"It feels strange."

"Strange?"

"Nobody has ever been inside me like this before, not since I was... Since I was activated."

Tony laughs. "You have no idea how that sounds."

"How does it sound?"

"Well it sounds like... It sounds as if I was fucking you, not as if I was elbows-deep in your circuits."

The robot thinks about that for a moment, then he says hesitantly, "I did not mean it like that. I really... Did not mean it like that."

Tony puts down the tiny screwdriver and walls around the bench to look into S-40's face. Strangely enough, the robot doesn't meet his gaze. "Hey. Oh my god, are you curious?"

"I don't know. It's... I know I was built to pleasure in every kind of way, but. I don't know." 

"You don't know," Tony repeats and grins. "You're unsure?"

"I... Yes, I think so." 

Tony extends a hand and lets it glide through S-40's blonde hair. "Steve."

The robot looks at him and blinks slowly. "I don't understand."

"Steve," Tony repeats, gentler than he intended to. "As your name. What do you think?"

For the first time since he has come into Tony's house, the robot smiles. "I like it very much. Thank you, Tony."

"You're very welcome," Tony says and means it.


	14. December, 14: Karaoke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word/catch phrase of the day: Karaoke  
> Pairing: (slight) superhusbands  
> Characters: Steve Rogers, Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Natasha Romanova, Clint Barton, Thor
> 
> How has it become a tradition that they all walk into a karaoke bar before every Christmas? Steve will never know- and maybe he also doesn't care.

"This is strangely mortifying," Steve mutters and looks horrified when a waitress with breasts big enough to hide a human skull between them bends over him to serve him his glass of water.

"This is glorious!" Thor bellows and is the first one to jump onto the stage. "Clint, my friend, join me to sing the fantastic song about the warrior who never gives up!"

"Tubthumping it is," Clint nods and gives a sign.

"You gotta relax, Steve," Tony says and he is on his third glass of whiskey and he really shouldn't drink so much but then again, Steve is not sure if he wouldn't get very, very drunk as well if he could. "Look at Bruce."

Bruce sits in the corner and taps his fingertips rhythmically against the table while Thor and Clint- who, as it turned out two years ago when they did this for the first time, has a very good voice- bellow out an insanely loud song that makes everyone in the bar go crazy. 

"Doesn't this make you angry?" Steve asks- or rather: yells- and tries not to sound too hopeful. Bruce just smiles and waves, crushing Steve’s hopes and dreams of a fast escape while doing so. Beside him, Natasha laughs quietly into her fist, eyes twinkling in amusement. “Are you laughing at me?”

“A little,” Natasha admits, raising her voice over Thor’s solo. “But then I also laughed at Tony when he just handed over his credit cards to the barmaid and told her to give him whatever he wanted even when he couldn’t string two coherent sentences together anymore.”

“I am pretty sure he is going to buy the bar,” Steve says and sighs. Natasha laughs again, in that quiet, guarded way she has, and watches Tony dragging Bruce onto the stage. 

“It’s a Christmas tradition, Steve, relax,” Clint, who has mysteriously appeared beside him and sounds slightly out of breath, tells him. “Every year we go to a karaoke bar and every year Tony ends up buying it because they try to throw him out. Wouldn’t be the same if he didn’t, would it? And every year-“

“I’m going to get dragged onto the stage at some point, I know,” Steve sighs and cannot help but smile. “I can’t sing. I don’t know why all of you aren’t interested in that fact.”

“The lady Natasha should sing with us!” Thor bellows from the bar where he is getting more mead and flirts with the barmaid in his hilariously unsubtle way. “I would be honored to raise my voice together with yours to grace the Gods, Lady Natasha!”

“No,” Natasha says and she doesn’t sound unfriendly or harsh, but as always, Thor obeys and just drinks another beaker of mead in her honor. Steve marvels at her uncanny ability to get her way so easily. 

“Steve!” Tony roars all of a sudden after he finished his song on the stage and all but crawls into his lap while Bruce slips into his corner. “Steve. You look lovely today, Steve. Really lovely. Pretty face. Pretty muscles. Everything.”

“You should stop drinking,” Steve tells him affectionately and gently ruffles his hair because he can. “I’ll tell the barkeeper not to give you anything anymore.”

“Can’t,” Tony mumbles and burrows his face into the crook of his neck. He smells nice despite the alcohol, warm and musky, and Steve tightens the grip around him a little. “Already bought it. My karaoke bar. Gonna collect all karaoke bars in this city. Drink in every one of them.”

“What if you sing with me instead?” Steve suggests and ignores Natasha laughing again together with Clint’s snort of amusement. It’s the same procedure every year and he has secretly started to like it, even though he probably shouldn’t because Tony really drinks too much. Tony hums and puts his hands on his shoulders, burrows closer and hums again.

“All I want for Christmas is you,” Tony says and it almost sounds like a question, but only barely and Steve swallows, swallows again and laughs and lets the moment slide, just like every year. He doesn’t know why; maybe it’s the same reason why he doesn’t go over and slips into Tony’s bed when he lays awake at night. The fear of reaching out and destroying what he has now for something that maybe won’t last very long is too great. 

“Sure,” He says, like every year, and helps Tony up, just like every year. For a moment, like every year, he holds Tony in his arms, feels him pressed into his side when they walk over to the stage, and it’s enough. Maybe, someday, it will be enough.


	15. December, 15th: Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word/catch phrase of the day: Truth  
> Pairing: Superhusbands  
> Characters: Tony Stark, Steve Rogers
> 
> Some heroes experience age in a gentle manner. Some heroes don't experience age at all. Either way, Christmas is about love, not about loss, and sometimes the truth hurts too much to say it out loud.

The truth is, Tony thinks when he settles onto the couch in front of the fireplace with a deep sigh that day, the truth is that he is going to die and there is nothing he can do about it. He can't do anything about it; it's not a sickness. It's just age and years and years of a life he always led a little too hard, a little too fast, a little too dangerous. 

"I think there is a good chance that there will be snow this Christmas," Steve says and drapes a blanket over him, tucks it in at the corners and smiles at him. Tony, looking into Steve's beautiful face that looks not older than mid-twenty, can't help but smile back. 

"You say that every year and every year you're disappointed," He tells him and Steve laughs, taking one of his wrinkled hands in his own and covering it with perfection. He doesn't know why Steve doesn't go, why he clings to him and watches him die instead of leaving him and finding someone else to be happy with. He doesn't try to get him to leave anymore, not since he has seen Steve cry, two years ago, curved into himself on the floor of their bedroom, silently, madly, after Tony yelled at him to leave, to never come back. 

"Hope is the last thing to die," Steve says and Tony smiles because he loves this man so much, this brave, loyal man who loves Tony more than himself. This could be their last Christmas and they both know it; Tony feels the tiredness deep in his bones like an aching shadow slowly taking him over. His body is tired, worn out from decades of an exhilarating, unique life, and sometimes he thinks his mind is too. There are other superheroes defending the world now; sometimes he has the feeling that there is no longer a place for a man who can't even get his fingers to stop trembling most days. 

He doesn't talk about it. Truth hurts like shards on bare skin and Steve doesn't deserve to hurt. Not more than he already does, at least. 

"Well then I will never stop hoping that one day you will get rid of that silly advent wreath and buy more lights instead."

"Never! The house is already overflowing, I'm pretty sure you could see it in space!"

"More lights. I am rich, I am entitled to as many Christmas lights as I want to."

Steve's smile is entirely fond and he reaches up to press a light kiss against Tony's lips. "You and your god damn lights," He says and he doesn't have to say I love you to let Tony hear it. “Are you hungry?”

There were times where Tony would have answered something slippery to that, something that would have reddened Steve’s cheeks and make him putty in Tony’s arms, but these times are long gone. He regrets that he can’t take care of Steve’s sexual needs anymore, not as well as he used to, anyways, even though Steve is happy, almost grateful for everything Tony gives him. “No. Come here.”

Steve curls up against him easily and willingly, burying his face in the crook of Tony’s neck and exhaling in simple pleasure. Tony slips a hand in his soft, blonde hair and tries not to worry too much about Steve’s future. There are people who are not meant to be alone; loneliness has never been kind to Steve. 

“You still haven’t told me what you want for Christmas, honey.”

“That’s because I don’t want anything,” Steve replies and Tony can feel his soft smile against his skin. “I already have everything I want.”

Tony knows that this can’t be true, but he can’t give Steve what he wants most: Time. They both want more time. It will never be enough time, cannot be enough time. He misses the energy of his younger years where he would do at least two things at the same time, run twenty-seven hours straight without sleep and only feed on green energy drinks. He doesn’t miss the energy drinks, though.

“Are you okay?” Steve murmurs and spreads kisses along his neck. Tony doesn’t know why he still does that; there are no mirrors in this house anymore because he cannot bear looking at himself, even though age is gentle to him despite everything he has done to himself. Still, Steve tries to touch him whenever possible, with an aching longing Tony doesn’t want to understand. He doesn’t want to understand it right now as well, so instead he leans up and kisses Steve gently.

“Don’t worry so much,” He tells him and takes his hand, looks into Steve’s soft, glowing face and dreams of days where everything was not better, but easier and death was far away.


	16. December, 16th: Trust Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word/catch phrase of the day: Trust me  
> Pairing: (implied) Stucky  
> Characters: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes
> 
> People heal slowly, and trust is a difficult thing.

Bucky all but slumps onto the couch beside him; he brought winter and ice with him when he came home two hours ago and when Steve looks out of the window, he can still see the snow falling silently. 

“You should sleep,” He murmurs. He is tentative; it’s only been weeks since he got Bucky back and everything between them is still so raw that he often doesn’t know where they stand. 

“Later,” Bucky says, as always. Later means when Steve is sound asleep and can’t be a threat. Later means the few hours between the darkest of nights and the rise of dawn where most people are either asleep or dead. Later means hours of pacing, of smoking one cigarette after the other, of staring blankly at the TV screen. Things are not okay and everyone who claims the opposite is an idiot. 

“You should go to sleep now,” Steve says softly because he cannot not try. Bucky is always worth another try, and another, and another. He will never stop trying for Bucky. 

“Later,” Bucky says curtly and fishes for his pack of cigarettes, stretching out on the couch beside him and lighting a cigarette, but never touching him. When he glances over at Steve, his face softens a little and he tries a smile. It’s the shadow of the wide, easy smile he had as a boy and it breaks Steve’s heart, but it’s there, it’s there and it’s beautiful. “Nine days until Christmas morning.”

“Yeah,” Steve says because he doesn’t know what else he could say. He stares at the cybernetic arm and the place where skin meets metal and wants to touch. Oh, he wants to touch, wants to touch everything there is, but he doesn’t dare, not anymore. “Bucky?”

“Yeah?” 

Bucky likes to be called James these days. Sometimes Steve thinks that has something to do with the way Natasha calls him Yasha oh so very softly from time to time, green eyes glinting with something that is mirrored in Bucky’s dark, dark eyes. He doesn’t want to talk about it. Jealousy is an ugly thing and he doesn’t even know if he has a reason to be jealous. Bucky is not his. Who knows if he is Natasha’s. “Why don’t you trust me?”

Bucky blinks slowly, obviously to gain some time, before he looks at Steve. “I trust you.”

Steve shakes his head. “Not enough to sleep around me anymore. You always- I never- I don’t understand. I always… I would never hurt you.”

“Steve,” Bucky says after a pause and his voice sounds strained, but Steve doesn’t quite know why. “Have you ever considered that it’s not about me not trusting you, but rather about me not trusting myself? Because that’s what it is about. So just leave it, will ya?”

“I just want to understand,” Steve says and sighs, feeling confused and helpless. “I just want to help.”

“You can’t help.”

“You don’t let me!”

Bucky’s eyes are unreadable. He does that often now, just closes off and doesn’t open up for a while when he doesn’t want Steve to know what is going through his head. “Steve. This is me trying to come to terms with myself. This has nothing to do with you and you can’t help. Either I work it out alone or I don’t.”

“That’s bullshit,” Steve spits and maybe it’s the fact that he curses, but Bucky looks a little more attentive now, a surprised expression on his face. “You’re torturing yourself, that’s what you do, and you don’t just hurt yourself by doing so, but you hurt me as well. I know you- I know that you’re angry at me, sometimes, for bringing your memories back-”

“Steve-”

“And that’s okay, really, I just- I just want a second chance with you because you’re so fucking important to me and I let you down once-”

“ _Steve_ -“

“But I won’t let you down again,” Steve finishes and he doesn’t even try to ban the tremble from his voice. He is bare, naked before Bucky’s eye, always has been, always will be. He is willing to turn his insides out if Bucky wants him to. He is willing to do everything it takes, if Bucky wants him to. 

Bucky doesn’t want him to. And that’s probably the reason why he has been in love with him since forever. 

“Please,” Steve says when Bucky just looks at him with his dark, dark eyes hidden behind long hair, not the man he used to be and not the man they made him to be. “Please, just…” And it shouldn’t be so easy for him to beg, he has never been one to beg, but he is willing to go on his knees for Bucky’s forgiveness, willing to bow and bend for Bucky’s health and happiness, and he is willing to beg until his voice is hoarse for Bucky’s love. “Just go to sleep. Please. Please.”

“Not yet,” Bucky says and his voice is quiet, soft like it was decades ago when he held Steve’s small, sickly body in his arms and told him to breathe, to trust him, that everything would be alright.

Decades later, nothing is alright and Steve cannot breathe when Bucky gets up and shrugs on his coat, vanishing in silence. Winter stays, thick, white snowflakes falling from the sky while the wind starts to howl and claw at the windows. Steve gets up and walks over to them. He will wait.

Everything is different, but some things never change.


	17. December, 17th: For Science

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word/Catch Phrase of the day: For Science  
> Pairing: Stucky  
> Characters: Natasha Romanova, Clint Barton, Bruce Banner, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes
> 
> Tony starts to build one robot for every day of December. Bucky, as it turns out, still has some mother hen left in him.

"Motherfucking robots everywhere," Clint mutters and stares at the tiny little things waddling around in the kitchen. Tony must be in a Christmas mood because they all got paint jobs in red, green and white. "I can't see how that's for science, to be perfectly honest." 

"I like how much they irk you," Natasha says and butters her toast. Bruce allows himself a quiet chuckle behind his newspaper. "There's one for each day." 

"I think we should get Tony out of the workshop," Steve says. He doesn't miss the unreadable way Bucky looks at the beeping little guys.

////

Tony gets out of the workshop under vehement protest, falls asleep in the elevator mid-argument and doesn't even wake up when Steve carries him into his bed and drapes the blanket over him. 

Steve uses the time to think about the small army of robots that roams their house. Natasha doesn't even bat an eyelash at them when they whirr past her and they are intelligent enough to not bother her. However, Natasha also didn't bat an eyelash when Clint shot one of them down, causing the tiny guys to declare him an enemy and flee the room whenever he enters it. 

Bruce takes care that they are never seen in his lab. Steve is pretty sure he doesn't want to know how. Thor just thinks they are hilarious little creatures. Steve himself is smitten with the tiny little guys and allows them to waggle along when he walks through the Avengers tower.

The only real problem is Bucky, who burns holes into the robots with his eyes and doesn't say a word when they appear. Since Bucky still hasn't fully recovered, Steve fears the worst. 

At least he does until he catches Bucky carefully tucking in every single robot in a huge basket beneath his bed as if they were little children. 

"Stop beeping," He tells them with his rough voice and miraculously, they do. When they try to reach him with their tiny claws, he gently holds a hand towards them, the cybernetic one. They eagerly cling on, starting to chirp again. "Stop that, you're safe here, but only if you're quiet, okay? So shut up. Good? Good. I'll get you out when Clint's gone again."

Something in Steve’s chest aches when he thinks of a little boy with already hard eyes and a smile as wide as the sun years, decades ago, a little boy with dark hair and gentle hands telling him everything would be alright and the other boys won’t hurt him anymore. For a moment, the man in front of him looks like that boy again, smiling at a bunch of little creatures made of metal and wires mostly which seemingly adore him. For a moment, the shell Bucky hides behind cracked open and showed his caring side again.

For a moment, he is very, very jealous of a bunch of brightly colored robots.

/////

The next days, he watches Bucky more closely, so close that even Bruce makes a quiet remark about it. Bucky doesn’t seem to care; he slips in and out of Avengers Tower as it pleases him, vanishes like a ghost and reappears as if he was never away. Whenever he walks around in their home, the robots gather around him at some point and cling to him. Miraculously, he lets them, even chooses to wear hooded jackets to be able to carry around a few of them in the hood. In return, the tiny creatures bring him everything from food to the remote, braid his shoulder-long hair with more or less success and sleep in his bed.   
Steve is—glad. He is. Bucky sleeps better now, with less screaming, and he looks a little more grounded. His kisses are more frequent and he smiles more often than not. It’s nice, actually, and Steve toys with the idea to ask Tony if he could build more robots.

////

“Barnes, you corrupt my robots,” Tony complains one day when even he cannot help but notice how much the robots like Bucky. “Don’t take my babies away from me!”

At that, Bucky honest to God laughs, causing his favorite robot from the seventeenth of December perched on one of his shoulder to chirp in excitement. Steve’s stomach does somersaults. “Can’t help it if they find me charming.”

“Charming?” Tony snorts and if he’s surprised about Bucky’s mood he doesn’t let it show. “They probably only find your arm charming.”

“Hey, you’re talking to the guy who’s in a relationship with Steve Rogers, I have to be absolutely charming in general,” Bucky says, grins and walks away. Tony notices Steve’s gaze and laughs.

“You’re so in love, it’s not even funny anymore,” He tells him. Steve smiles and doesn’t deny.

////

“Hey.” 

Steve rolls over and finds Bucky watching him. It’s four in the morning and he has to blink the sleep from his eyes. “Hey yourself. Can’t sleep?”

“I thought about some things,” Bucky says and he is very quiet, but his eyes never leave Steve’s. “I haven’t been very… I haven’t been very open towards you after I got back my memories. I never- I haven’t once told you that I love you.”

“You never did back then as well,” Steve gently reminds him and reaches out for Bucky. His lover closes his eyes when he places a hand on his cheek. “Not with words, anyways.”

“I like these robots, Steve,” Bucky says without opening his eyes. “Robots are easy. I understand why Tony prefers them over humans. You’re the most fucking important thing in my life, okay, I don’t want to lose you, but I’m not the man I used to be and I can never go back to that, do you… Do you understand that?”

“I do and I don’t care.”

They’re quiet for a while; there is only enough light to make out the faint outlines of Bucky’s body and his glinting eyes. Steve suspects that this is exactly what Bucky was aiming for. 

“Okay,” Bucky then says very quietly, “Okay.” 

His kiss tastes like snow and ice, but for once, Steve doesn’t think that’s a bad thing.


	18. December, 18th: Those goddamn elves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word/catch phrase of the day: Those goddamn elves  
> Pairing: (slight) Superhusbands  
> Characters: Thor, Clint Barton, Natasha Romanova, Bruce Banner, Tony Stark, Steve Rogers
> 
> Even though Christmas is near, villains never sleep. They only get more creative.

The thing is, Christmas might be knocking on everyone’s door, but villainy never sleeps and New York is a magnet for psychopaths who want to cause chaos. 

“Bad Santa?” Tony yells into the comm, “Are you fucking kidding me? Bad Santa? What is this, a bad movie? How can this be my life?”

“I’m gonna spank that motherfucker as soon as I get my hands on him,” Clint swears, “And every single one of those goddamn elves as well.”

“Focus, team,” Steve yells, even though he has to admit that the acidic slime-spitting elves who double whenever one of them gets killed are a pain in the ass. 

“Are you fucking kidding me,” Tony yells again and one day Steve might drive him into a wall and fuck some sense and team play into him quite aggressively, but today is not that day. “How can we take this seriously and focus, Steve?”

“No real names during mission, Iron Man!”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“A guy dressing up in a black Santa suit and yelling how much he hates Christmas and that everyone should suffer like he always did? Sorry, Cap, but I’m with Iron Man here, that’s utter bullshit and I cannot believe it’s not a Thursday. Shit like that always only happens on Thursday!”

“Thank you for your input, Hawkeye. Thor, two dozens of elves about five hundred meters away from you!” It’s a quiet satisfaction to watch an army of green-clothed elves getting smashed by Thor’s hammer. Steve thinks of the stories his mother used to tell him and feels a little guilty, but only until he gets hit by another wave of acidic slime that melts parts of his uniform off. He also has to admit that he gnashes his teeth and starts swearing when huge gingerbread men start appearing and throw rock-hard cookies at them. “Where is this motherfucker?!”

“Captain!” Natasha says mockingly, jumps on the back of one of the gingerbread men and crushes its giant head. It is a little intimidating. 

“Let’s just…” Steve sighs and tries to gather several elves in a corner like a good shepherd. A hysterical laughter tries to escape him. He suppresses it by thinking about murdering a bunch of mini-sized cookies later at home. It works surprisingly well.

/////

It takes them four hours and a half to take the crazy lunatic down. By then the streets are covered in gingerbread men corpses, giant cookies, singing and blinking trees, dead elves, crying children and exasperated parents. Bad Santa is being led away. One of the kids that almost got eaten by one of the gingerbread men kicks him against his shin when he passes by. Steve can relate.

Steve arrives at home barely clothed. So do Thor and Hulk, but Thor doesn’t mind and Hulk wasn’t much dressed to begin with. Still, Steve is pretty sure that he won’t be able to look Bruce in the eyes for a while. 

The only one who is in a really good mood is Tony.

“Well that was a party!” He says and steps out of the suit, “Jarvis? Put on some Christmas music, will ya?”

“Of course, sir,” Jarvis says in his smooth, British voice. Seconds later the Avengers Tower is filled with the blaring noises of Mariah Carey blaring about her wishes for Christmas. Steve thinks about murder for a brief second. Obviously he is not the only one because Natasha rushes past him and tackles Tony from behind, wrapping her strong thighs around his throat and choking him. Steve allows himself to watch for a while, then he steps in, glad when Natasha listens to him and lets Tony live.

“I love Christmas,” Tony says and grins when he can breathe freely again. “Come on, people, you have to admit that was one of the weirdest, funniest battles we ever had!”

“Tony,” Steve says gently, “I love you and I respect the memory of my mother who was a pacifist, but I swear to God I will throttle you if you don’t stop talking right now.”

“Kinky, Captain Handsome,” Tony says and leers at him. Steve tries not to blush and fails spectacularly. He is already on his way to the shower, when Tony yells, “So, anyone in the mood for some gingerbread baking?”

Steve decides that Tony definitely deserves a good spanking after his shower.


	19. December, 19th: Dedication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word/catch phrase of the day: Dedication  
> Pairing: none  
> Characters: Steve Rogers, Tony Stark
> 
> Steve likes to share his leisure time with others.

Steve, as it turns out, doesn't spend his leisure time like ordinary people. Somehow Tony thinks he should not be surprised, even though Steve's activities are really depressing.

He watches Steve visiting homeless veterans every day from afar. It's not the blankets and food and everything else that seems to help these people. It's Steve sitting down beside them, listening to their stories and sharing a few of his own together with words of comfort and sympathy. He doesn't act in the name of Captain America; most people recognize him anyways. 

Tony learns a lot in the hours he spends on following Steve. He learns about the man who fought in a war Tony only learned about from history book, not only a leader but also a man who held dying soldiers in his arms and cried over them because they were too young to end their life this way. He learns more about the compassionate, the spirit-wakening man who never uses his rank, sees everyone as his equal, doesn't accept blind following. 

And he learns about the sad man whose shoulders drop when he talks about a fellow soldier fallen in battle, the way he holds himself together and contains loss and grief with grace and a straight spine because he is here to help these people, listen to their stories, not to bother them with his problems.

It's a deep, profound dedication that cuts deeply into Tony's heart because it is so very Steve to help this quietly, without wanting anything back. 

He wonders if there is anybody who is dedicated to Steve himself.


	20. December, 20th: I didn't mean to

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word/catch phrase of the day: I didn't mean to  
> Pairing: Stucky  
> Characters: Steve Rogers
> 
> Five days until Christmas morning and Bucky has been dead for seventy years.

_They build a statue of us and put it where everyone can see it. Is this what you wanted, Steve?_

“I don’t know,” Steve says into the cold, cold breeze that brings winter with it. It has been snowing for days now, thick snowflakes falling from the sky and covering the city Steve loves the most with a white blanket.

Five days left until Christmas morning and Bucky has been dead for seventy years.

Of course, nobody answers him; there is only this, a lonely man wrapped in a too-tight coat because he cannot remember to buy bigger sizes and he cannot be brought to give the coat away, frozen bushes and white-coated stones and a giant monument of a team that has ever existed like they portrayed it. 

He doesn’t know what it is he wants to find here; there is nothing but the things obvious to the eye. There is no grave, no grave for Bucky; they never bothered and Steve went under the ice too quickly to force them to hold a worthy funeral for an empty coffin.   
He doesn’t know if he could bear looking at an empty grave, so it’s probably for the better.

Bucky stares down at him, his metallic face stony and grave. They made him so young, more sidekick than real ally, and it’s not right, it’s not the fiery, determined adult man that saved his sorry ass so many times, has already saved it before people knew who Steve Rogers was. It’s not the gentle, quiet man Bucky could be when nobody looked, when he felt save, when he was only with Steve, who loved his cockiness but didn’t expect it from him. 

If only he hadn’t let him fall. If only-

“I’m sorry,” He chokes out because the words burn in his throat and the guilt burns in his heart and the grief burns in his eyes and the falling snow does nothing to soothe his ache. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t mean to. I shouldn’t have.”

_Foolish_ , He thinks and looks down on the ground to escape the gaze of the statues. There is nothing here that could make it easier, nothing to bring him back what he has lost.

There are only five days left until Christmas and Bucky has been dead for seventy years. These days, Steve feels as if he himself was still dead as well.


	21. December, 21st: Fuck you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word/Catch phrase of the day: Fuck you  
> Pairing: (implied) Clintasha  
> Characters: Clint Barton, Natasha Romanova
> 
> Why the fuck did Clint agree to buy some Christmas presents for his team again?

„This is ridiculous.“

„You are ridiculous. But kind of sweet, so I think I’ll give you another chance.”

“Fuck you, woman, I am trying to hunt down some Christmas presents. What do you even give Bruce?”

“A new watch.”

“A new watch? Wow, Natasha, that’s pretty lame. I thought my idea of giving him a new ugly sweater, since he likes them so much, was lame, but this beats everything.”

“I don’t think a guy who asked me whether it was okay to buy an Iron Man plushie for Steve to help him resolve that crush he feels towards Tony is allowed to judge my presents.”

“Hey, he’d totally love that, though. Maybe love it a little too much, if you know what I mean.” Natasha snickers when Clint pauses and shudders. “Never mind. Maybe that really was a bad idea.”

They walk quietly through the streets of New York for a while, peering through the cheerily decorated shop windows while looking for suitable presents. At some point, Clint tries to sneak his hand into Natasha’s and hides a smile in his thick, blue scarf when Natasha lets him.

“It’s strange, isn’t it?” She asks when they enter a book shop to find something nice for Bruce. “Having to think about presents for others. Doing Christmas at all.”

“Ah, but it’s nice,” Clint mutters, “In some ways at least, I guess. It feels… As if having a family, more of a family than me and you.”

Natasha smiles and the small dimple in her right cheek that only shows when she is particularly content appears. She looks lovely, almost sweet, with snowflakes melting in her red hair because she doesn’t like to wear caps. “True. Although we should have known that it was not a good idea to go buy presents on the twenty-first of December.”

“Well, you know, we’re spies, not geniuses.”

“Tony is a genius and I am very sure that he lets Pepper buy our presents, which is not the worst thing because then we can at least be sure that they are going to be very tasteful.”

“I don’t have much taste, though.”

“I know, but I think Pepper still has faith in you.”

“You’re always so nice to me. Hey, do you think I can buy Bruce the Kama sutra? He _has_ been to India, after all.”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”  
“Alright then. I’ll buy it.”

Natasha laughs when they walk out of the shop again after half an hour of standing at the cashpoint. He doesn’t know why she laughs and that makes it even better. It’s already dark outside, but Clint doesn’t mind. New York is as brightly lit as always and people are rushing through the streets in a whirlwind of chattering, packages and frozen noses.

For once, Clint really looks forward to Christmas.


	22. December, 22nd: Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word/catch phrase of the day: Scars  
> Pairing: Natasha/Winter Soldier  
> Characters: Black Widow, Winter Soldier
> 
> Maybe some day, all that there will be left is scars.
> 
> (Due to some family problems this comes hella late and I apologize.)

No matter what the season is, there are no tender touches between them. It is something Natasha has never even considered before, but now, laying in a hotel bed beside him, she wonders why it is so hard to just extend a hand and touch him.

“Don’t.” 

His voice, albeit low and husky from sleep, is loud enough in the otherwise eerily quiet room to make her press her lips together in surprise. Nothing more; she was trained, and trained well at that, to never show surprise. 

“What do you mean?” She finally asks, but he only grunts and turns around to face her, his eyes dark and unreadable in the pale glow of the moonlight streaming in through the curtains. 

“Don’t insult me, Natalia,” He says and he is calm today, calm enough to actually smile slightly at her. She wonders what they would say if they could see the man he sometimes is when they’re alone together. Would they put him back into the ice again? Would they scrub everything he knows from her, from them, out of his mind, destroying him further and further? Most likely. It’s good that she has learned early how pleasing it is to have some secrets. “You’re thinking loud enough to even get through to me. Don’t.”

Her lips quirk up into a smile before she is even aware of it. It is a challenge; she knows a challenge when she sees one. It is also a warning; she is even better with warnings, but unlike him, they never really bothered making her really submissive and she is good at playing meek and nice. With one swift motion she rolls herself on top of him, knowing that she only succeeds because he lets her. 

They say, the Winter Soldier is made of ice and snow, just like the country he was born in. Just like the country he will die for.  
The man underneath her fingertips is warm, warm enough to chase away any foolish thoughts of him being a ghost. He says nothing when her fingertips trace along the deep, white scars that twist and curve along his strong body. He says nothing when she lowers her head and places a kiss against his chest in the foolish attempt of a child to be gentle. Nobody ever taught them to be gentle; Natasha is not even sure it is something she wants, but she wants to try.

They say, the Winter Soldier is incapable of feeling anything. 

But oh, Natasha knows better. She knows his deep, wretched anger when someone touches her in the wrong way. She knows his twisted satisfaction after a job done right. She knows that he is merciless, killing men, women and children alike. She knows the small, unsure smile he sometimes shows her these days when they are alone, when she is on top of him after violent sex, breathing hard against his skin. 

He is breaking and maybe it’s for the better, but maybe it also isn’t. Maybe all that will be left of him will be legends of a ghost and too many scars on a body of a dead man. She doesn’t want to think about it; instead, she leans forward and covers his lips for a kiss.


	23. December,  23rd: Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word/catch phrase of the day: Goodbye  
> Pairing: None  
> Characters: Steve Rogers, Sarah Rogers
> 
> There may always come happier times, but for now, darkness is all Steve can see.

His mother looked like an angel while she slept.

Her breathing was sometimes harsh, sometimes barely audible these days. She didn’t do much anymore, just slept a lot, occasionally eating when Steve offered her a bowl of soup. She had to be fed because she was too weak to eat on her own. There was hardly a day or a night where he didn’t sit at her bed, feeling helpless and frustrated with himself.

Only praying was left and praying he did.

“Don’t worry, my boy,” Sarah told him one day, her soft voice even softer by lack of strength, but her eyes were clear despite the fever that slowly drained her. Her colors had become even mellower, as if she was a picture slowly washed out by the rain. “You know the saying that when a person dies, another starts to live?”

He wanted to say something but his throat was closed up, so he just nodded. Sarah smiled and closed her eyes. Her hands lay like the skeletons of leaves in autumn on the white bed sheet. “Not long until Christmas morning,” She murmured and sighed softly. “I always loved Christmas in Ireland. All the wide fields full of snow, the food, family… Family is important, Steve. People you love are important. Being strong for people you love is important. I know we didn’t have it easy and sometimes I failed you. There are so many things I wish I could have given you.”

“Mom,” He starts, shying away from the hoarse tone of his voice, but she just mildly shakes her head. “Mom, I love you.”

“And I love you, honey,” She said softly, opening her blue eyes to look at him, “And I wish I could spare you pain. A mother always wants to protect her children from all the pain the world can inflict on them, but no mother ever truly succeeds. I am so proud of you, honey. You are going to walk through this world with strength. Never let them bring you down, Steve.” Her hand touched his own with the lightness of an angel’s wing. “May the road rise to meet you. May the wind be always at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face, the rain fall soft upon your fields. And until we meet again, may God hold you in the palm of his hand. Goodbye, my love. I have to rest now. Chin up, honey. Don’t cry. Don’t cry, my beautiful boy. There will always be happier times.”


	24. December, 24th: New Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word/catch phrase of the day: New Beginning  
> Pairing: Superhusbands  
> Characters: Tony Stark, Natasha Romanova, Bucky Barnes, Clint Barton, Thor, Bruce Banner, Steve Rogers
> 
> Well, this certainly wasn't how Tony expected to spend Christmas eve.

To be perfectly honest, it was all Tony’s fault.

If he hadn’t insisted on putting up this huge-ass mother of all Christmas trees in the living room of Avengers Tower, Clint would have probably never started teasing him for being too small to put Steve’s beloved Christmas star on the top of it. If Clint had never started teasing him, Tony would have probably never yelled back at him. If Tony hadn’t yelled back at Clint, Thor would have probably never gotten the idea to fly him up on top of the tree and leave him there. 

So here he was, holding on to a tree for dear life and scowling at Clint, who was doubled over from laughing hysterically. “Get me down this instant or there will be no presents for you.”

“Worth it,” Clint said and broke into hysterical laughter again, joined by Thor, who apparently seemed to think that it was a typical Midgardian custom to drape a bearded man over a tall tree. Sometimes Tony really, really hated Asgardians.

To be fair, it wasn’t that unpleasant; the needles of the tree were surprisingly soft, there was enough candy to tear viciously through and he could try to shoot Clint down with Christmas baubles. He had a pretty good aim. Unfortunately, Clint was a quick bastard who ran off laughing before he could smash a bauble against his ugly head. 

“Your taste in clothing is a disgrace to this house!” He shouted after him, growling in small satisfaction when Clint flipped him the bird before he disappeared.

Well. Steve had to come home from mass _eventually_ , right?

******

The next one walking by was Natasha, who stopped in something that almost looked like surprise but probably was more along the lines of murderous thoughts when he yelled, “Natasha!”

“What the hell are you doing up there, Tony?” She said, cocked her head and studied him. He almost fell down when she grabbed one of the candy canes. It was shocking to see the Black Widow bite into cheery sweets and chew thoughtfully, her green eyes still looking up at him. She looked almost… human. At ease. It was frightening as hell. “Are you playing Christmas angel?”

“Very funny,” Tony replied, only Natasha’s frightening skills with knives keeping him from saying something nasty. “You’re not really interested in helping me get down from here, are you?”

“No,” Natasha said with an almost friendly smile, took another candy cane and walked away. Tony stared after her and whistled, being appreciative of her excellent ass. It earned him a scarily well-aimed Santa hat. 

He decided to keep it instead of tossing it down on the floor.

********  
Bucky needed exactly ten seconds after entering the living room to discover him. Maybe he got old. Then again, Bucky just settled down with a bowl of fruits in his cybernetic arm and his back against the couch to silently watch him while he ate. Tony hoped that he and Natasha would never have kids because he was pretty sure they would even scare Wednesday Adams senseless. 

“Hey, asshole, care to take me down from here?” He called down and Bucky quirked the corners of his lips upward, waving with a slice of pineapple. Between him and Bucky on his nice days was enough sympathy to allow him to insult him in every possible way. Besides, Bucky would never cut Tony open because he knew that Steve would give him the puppy eyes for it and nobody was immune against Steve’s puppy eyes, though Bucky was probably closest to it. 

“I think I want to enjoy the show,” Bucky answered with a smirk, settled down on the floor and ate something that looked like a slice of apple. Tony hoped he would choke on it, that handsome bastard. “You were right, Natasha, this tree is rather strong.”  
“I know, right?” Natasha said and slipped into the room, sat down beside him with a bowl of popcorn and joined her lover in watching Tony. Tony hated them both. 

“Having fun down there?” He asked, “Don’t you two have something else to do, like killing some people or having really kinky sex?”

“No,” Natasha answered in the same almost friendly manner like she did before and fed Bucky a cherry. “Nice hat, by the way.”  
Tony was pretty sure that she was going to do something very painful to him when he came down from that tree. He clung harder and ate a chocolate angel to console himself. After all, it could be worse than sitting on top of a ridiculously lavishly decorated Christmas tree with two leather-clad psychopaths on the floor beneath him watching him with glinting eyes, right?

 _Right_?

******

“This is the worst Christmas _ever_ ,” Tony sighed. “JARVIS, back me up and tell me that this is the worst Christmas ever.”

“Actually, sir, I would believe that Christmas 1999 where you managed to burn down your house was far worse. Or could I remind you of Christmas 1987 where you passed out on the streets and were almost over by a-”

“No, JARVIS, God damn it, I just want to wallow in my misery, could you please at least support me?”

There was a quiet snort from below. Tony busied himself in throwing a candy cane right at Bucky, who, damn his goddamn arm, caught it mid-air and handed it over to Natasha as if nothing had happened. “Close enough, Tony!”

Bruce came in, stopped in front of the tree, took one long look at the entire situation, wordlessly turned around and exited. So much for Bruce backing him up. This was the new beginning of another eternity spent on a prickly tree, he could feel it.

********

“Oh come on, nobody can possibly be so long in a mass!”

“Sir, you have been on this tree for only two hours and seven minutes now. Captain Rogers should arrive at the mansion in approximately one hour and a half.”

“Oh. Cool.” That didn’t sound so bad. He could do this.

Underneath him, Bucky and Natasha started playing poker.

********

Finally, Steve came home from mass. His blond hair was covered in snowflakes and he was smiling, not even frowning when he found Bucky and Natasha only partially clothed on the floor of the living room, poker cards between them. His blush, however, was bright enough for even Tony to see. “Buck? What are you doing here?”

“Basically watching Stark suffer and playing poker,” Bucky answered and had the galls to grin. Steve frowned until Tony cleared his throat and waved at him when his head snapped up. “---Tony?”

“It’s entirely Clint’s fault, okay, don’t look at me like that,” Tony said very fast because the corners of Steve’s lips had turned up in that way that could only mean he was very amused or very angry. He hoped on the first one because if he didn’t get any Christmas sex tonight he was definitely going to get mad. 

“Can I… Do you want me to help you down or do you feel comfortable up there?” Steve asked and Tony blinked at him.  
“Did you just sass me?” He asked incredulously, even though he could feel a grin tugging on his lips when Steve started laughing. “Come and get me back down here, you hunky piece of man!”

“Hunky piece of man?” Bucky repeated and made a face that was somewhere between utter amusement and the urge to rip Tony’s heart out. Steve looked at him long and hard enough for Bucky to get up and fetch a ladder. 

When his feet touched the earth again, Tony sighed in satisfaction before wrapping his arms around Steve’s neck and kissing him soundly enough to make Bucky and Natasha leave the living room with quiet laughter. Steve hummed into the kiss while taking off the Santa hat Tony was still wearing, peppering his face with light little kisses before examining him. “Can I never leave you alone for one hour?”

“Technically, it was almost four hours,” Tony pointed out and grinned. “And no, you can’t. Not on Christmas. Merry Christmas, honey.”

“Merry Christmas,” Steve replied and smiled slightly before wrapping his arms around Tony’s waist. “Even though you’re not a very Christmas star, Tony. I’d rather have you underneath the Christmas tree.”

“With a bow?” Tony asked and winked at him, enjoying the blush creeping up Steve’s neck. “Can do, love. Just for you.”

*********

When Clint hopped down the stairs the next morning to unwrap his gifts, he screamed in terror because there was too much nakedness and not enough clothes on both Steve and Tony, who sleepily lifted his head from its place on Steve’s ridiculously chiseled chest to grin at him, so he fled and didn’t dare entering the living room again until afternoon. Served him right, that bastard.


End file.
